The Games That We Play
by Phoenix Noir
Summary: Vincent plays a game of will and seduction with Cid to help better understand the origins of a burn mark in the carpet. Rated for Cid's Mouth.


Hee, I am back with a little snippet that was on my mind. Enjoy!

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'The Games That We Play'

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There was a burn on the carpet. He noticed it before I did.

Bastard.

He gave this little chuckle that he would have called whimsical, and smiled this sweet little smile that damn near made me melt.

"I remember that burn." He down right purred those words as he swayed towards me as casual as can be. It was odd to see him in something other than that red cloak of his. It left all of his pretty features bare to the world. His graceful neck, his luscious lips, his lovely cheek bones.

Everything about that man was pretty, right down to the golden claw. He was the most gorgeous thing on two legs with a metal appendage.

I rolled my eyes at his comment, choosing to ignore it rather than take the obvious bait. I chewed the end of my unlit smoke as he mentioned the burn again, making it sound conversational. I wasn't buying it.

I gave a gruff growl as I settled back into my recliner, keeping my eyes away from the black mark on my cream colored carpet. Vince moved to settle against the wall near my chair, crossing his arms over his chest. I took notice of the button down black shirt he wore, and how the material looked soft and sheer, and how it fell over his claw as if it wasn't even there. I also noticed how his pants seemed to cling to his ass.

There was something about Vince that you couldn't look away from. Something that drew the eye and made your mouth water. He looked at me with those smoldering eyes, his brow raised nearly into his hairline.

I realized that I had zoned out on anything but his face, and didn't catch a word he said. He noticed, too.

"Are you listening?"

"Nope." Truth. I'm a truthful kinda guy.

"Any reason why?"

"… I was thinkin'." Partial truth. I was thinking about him naked.

He just gave this knowing smile that made me feel like I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

He is such a _bastard_.

"Why don't you tell me about that burn, hmm?" He said, sounding oh so reasonable.

"Why don't you shut the hell up, Vince." I responded, sounding scornful.

"Vincent." He corrected automatically. Vince was a funny guy. A lame, dry, sarcastic funny, but funny.

He didn't say anything after that. So I left him be. I was hoping he forgot about the burn mark.

It was silent then, a comfortable silence. So I closed my eyes and left it alone. I could hear everything, from Vince's breathing, deep and even beside me, to the light creaking of my chair as I rocked ever so slightly. I could here the life outside my window, the life of Rocket Town and all the people. Hell, I could hear the rocket rust and fall a little each day, as well as I could hear my own heart.

It sounded like it was breaking. I guess I never really got over not going into space.

I chewed the end of the cigarette butt quietly, breathing nice and even. Sooner than later I felt a weight on the arm of my chair. I opened my eyes to see Vince perched beside me, his body touching my shoulder. I gave him a funny look, and shifted to reach for the lighter that lay on the table.

Vince seemed to have other plans, and he leaned across me. His hair graced my cheek, and his scent filled my nostrils. I let myself fall into his smell, turning my face slightly to let all that raven silk slide over my skin.

When he pulled back, he had the lighter in his hands, and held in front of my face, his own face passive and neutral. I blinked at him once, and then glanced to the lighter. It was a small scale model of the Death Penalty. It was a gift from Vince, a few years back for Christmas, and I cherished it ever since. He looked me in the eye as he clicked the hammer back, a flame springing to life in the top most barrel.

I took a puff, and he let the hammer go, the flame snuffing out. He placed the lighter into my hand with a sentimental smile, which was the barest pull of lips for Vince, but I knew the look. For a split second, his eyes grew soft, and I saw a man that may have been gentler and sweeter, if he hadn't have been who he was.

Then the light was gone, and I was staring into the eyes of a killer who housed a demon. It made me shudder slightly, but I covered it as I took the first drag of my cig, letting the smoke furl from my nostrils.

I leaned back into my chair, only to have Vince's arm slide around my shoulders. I gave a small, barely audible sigh as I relaxed against the strangely warm metal of his prosthetic arm.

Things like this were rare from Vince. He was pretty strict about his personal space, so when he touched me openly, I just went with it by leaning back into him. He leaned his head down, those lips brushing my ear. For some reason, I expected dirty promises. What I got?

"Tell me how the burn came to be."

I never knew why I expected what I did. I snorted smoke through my nostrils, a gesture that earned me the nick name Dragon from Yuffie. "Why don't ya think about it real hard, Vince?"

"Vincent." He corrected again.

It made me laugh. There were times when Vince would behave completely out of character, like he had been since he brought up the burn mark. Then he would remind you that yes, he was actually the stoic and evil vampire that everyone made him out to be.

I continued to ignore the question and told him that if he wanted me to tell him the story, he should tell me it first. So it was fresh in my mind.

He actually laughed at that as he removed his weight from the arm of my chair. "Then it wouldn't be any fun. Besides, I have a better idea."

And then he turned and moved deeper into the house. I heard a door click shut, and moments later, water run.

Yeah, he was going to show me how exactly that burn mark came to be.

Have I mentioned how much of a bastard this man really is?

He plays games sometimes, and when you're the victim, you're really a victim. There were a few other times when Vince felt particularly playful. One of them included an Elfadunk in heat and a squealing Yuffie.

She was in that tree all night, showered by pink perfumed bubbles. I just couldn't feel sorry for her, though. She had it coming to her… Though seeing Vince with bows in his hair was worth her pain.

Hell, both events had me laughing for days, but we don't bring up the bows to Vince. He gives you this glare, and his eyes seem to burn. It's scary as hell, but effective in shutting the train mouth, also known as Yuffie.

Yeah, Vince was a special son of a bitch.

I let my mind wander, and allowed myself a few more laughs on a few others expenses. I listened to the water run for a moment, before I stood and moved to my kitchen.

I made two cups of tea, one for me, and one for Vince, smoked two cigs, and was one my third before I heard the sound of water die down to a soft trickle. I was arranging things on the shelf next to my television, sipping my honey flavored tea when Vince came out of the bathroom, wet, delicious and in nothing but a towel.

Glad I'll never have to tell the tea stain story.

I cursed at my tea stained carpet and wet spot on my pants for the full thirty seconds that it took for Vince to approach me, and his eyes were glittering with the effort not to laugh. My smoke was snug between my lips. Until I glanced up and found him a foot in front of me, the towel a step behind.

My lips parted, my mouth fell open, and my smoke fell to the floor, forgotten.

He stood there, naked, and smooth, and soft and wet. The light from the window graced his chest, making his skin shimmer like it was strewn with diamonds. Mixing with the scent of wet hair, and soap, and scrumptious skin, was an acrid odor. Something out of place. It took me a full minute of gazing at the bounty before me to realize that there was yet another mark, two feet from the first, upon the carpet to signify another day of games with Vince.

I cussed a few more times as I stamped out the barely smoked cig, mourning the loss of my tobacco and nicotine. Vince watched me pout like a child before he grabbed my hand and led me to the bedroom, slowly pulling at my clothing, tossing my goggles and the rest of my smokes across the room.

As his claw sliced through my shirt, as he tore my clothes from my body, as he pinned me to the bed and let that demon fury go on my being, moaning and groaning with that beautiful passion filled voice, he still managed to whisper in my ear.

"And that's how the burn mark came to be. You'll tell me the story next time, won't you?"

"If the ending is like this? Hell no!"

Just another burn. Just another day of games with Vincent.

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Please remember to review! And Have a Happy Christmas!

Ookami: Bah humbug.


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